Janissaries
by Ranchoth
Summary: Sequel to "It's a Living." We rejoin Daria, a year into her new career...at Cobra Command. Who is it that said "blessed is the man who's found his work"?


**Janissaries**

It was a dim, exceedingly gloomy night on the Arabian Sea, as the _CS Lancehead_-_nee_ the _Jahre_ _Viking_-steamed out from Alang, skirting the fringes of a tropical cyclone. The newborn warship was running dark, and quiet, using the weather for cover as she awaited the installation of His last major weapon system; the last "fang" in one of the grandest weapons ever put to sea, and under the flag of _Cobra_-a ruthless organization determined to rule the world.

And from her spot on the open deck on the stubby superstructure, Daria "Spindoctor" Morgendorffer was once again quietly bemoaning her position in life.

She'd (at least somewhat) reluctantly joined Cobra not quite a full year earlier, out of necessity. Pure, dumb, economics. A lovely little freak crash in the market for wordsmiths, ludicrous "overqualification" issues, and a myriad of other factors had lead Daria to a crossroads; try for employment that involved paper hats, digging things, and/or certain insanity that probably wouldn't even pay enough for gas, or go for supervillainy.

Deep down, she supposed she hadn't thought that the latter would work. Not really.

But, as it happened, all these months later, it was all turning out rather well.

Too well. Depressingly well.

A year of honest yet undeniably seedy work in Cobra's "Public Affairs" division-their polite term for "Agitprop and Related Manipulations"-had seemed to have endeared Spindoctor to her superiors, even in spite of Daria's usual brand of employee enthusiasm. (At least, she _hoped_ it was "in spite of.") And a few weeks earlier, she'd received her promotion to "Executive-Deputy Liaison Officer." It really wasn't much more than a part-time addition to her normal duties, but it brought a pay raise, and enough of an elevation in rank to add a few new privileges to her security clearance...like the unexpected chance to see her listing in the Cobra Command line of succession.

She wasn't _too_ near the top of the list, but, for her tastes, she was still disturbingly high up.

Under her feet, the deck lurched again as the ship plowed through the rough sea, giving Daria a brief wave of vertigo. She groaned, rubbing her right temple as she fought down the urge to shut her eyes. The minimal dose of dramamine she'd taken was barely enough to keep nausea at bay without knocking her out, but only just. And she needed a clear head for the evening's work.

She sighed, and decided to tug her briefing handbook out from under her uniform lapel for another read. Daria had it nearly all committed to memory already, but she _really_ needed something to occupy her mind, while still getting some fresh air.

Cobra, in effect, had the world's 6th largest air force, and with aircraft and equipment that equalled or surpassed anything fielded by NATO. But this hardly came cheap-by itself, the organization only had the resources to operate a fraction of it's air force at any one time. In fact, internal reports judged that bringing even a majority of the air arms to combat readiness at once in a single theater would stretch Cobra to the brink of collapse, in just over two days. And that was without enemy action.

But, on the other hand, simply scrapping or warehousing the air arm was out of the question, too. Cobra had built it up for a reason-it _needed_ the capabilities of a diverse air force, at one time or another. It might be a strategic bomber one day, VTOL troop transport the next, and transonic interceptors the week after.

The solution to the problem, as it turned out, was easy enough...Cobra could simply hire out the services of inactive sections of the air arms, like Hessians. The clients had included everyone from low-grade supervillains to minor members of the UN security council, who often as not didn't even know who they were contracting with. Hell, a lot of them wouldn't have even cared-what mattered was they were getting the use of peerless aircraft and crews, without spending nearly as much as it would have cost to build their own. And for it's trouble, Cobra gained invaluable combat experience for it's airmen, and made a tidy profit to boot.

There was, of course, another advantage to the setup. Some of the Clients didn't or couldn't pay with cash- but with supervillains, _barter_ could be even better.

Which came to the focus of this night's activities: Cobra, in partner with it's principle arms supplier, MARS-which itself was operated by de facto Cobra second in command Destro-had an exclusive, long-standing contract to supply heavy-lift aircraft services to the criminal organization, VILE.

(Daria took a moment to check her handbook's end notes again. Yep. "VILE" really _was_ supposed to stand for "Villains International League of Evil." Daria shook her head, sadly. She _still_ had a hard time believing it.)

VILE, unlike Cobra, and despite it's own name, was focused on profit, not global domination. But, as such, VILE and it's infamous leader had become the world's foremost experts in every kind of theft. No matter how large, well-guarded, or obscure something was, if VILE wanted it, they could get it. But in the end, it owed a lot of that ability to Cobra-supplied equipment.

And so, when the deal with VILE was made, the means of payment seemed only natural: in exchange for the use of Cobra equipment, VILE was required to, on demand, no less than once a year and no more than twice, retrieve any and all "items of value," under an upper value/weight limit, requested in a single order by Cobra High Command, within a reasonable timetable. Naturally, this was in addition to maintenance costs, half of crew wages, etc, etc. Thoughtfully, someone's lawyer had added a section specifically excluding requests for items "physically or technologically impossible to acquire," so the contract wouldn't be voided if Cobra Commander went nuts and demanded Jesus Christ's eyeballs in a can of prop wash, or something.

And until lately, what Cobra had demanded had mostly been fairly "small" items-a few rare isotopes, a DARPA prototype or two, the handful of Rembrandts and Degas' now hanging in the Cobra Officer's Club (Daria had actually seen the latter herself)-but the _Lancehead_ was something else. Almost every major system of the ship-from His RBMK reactor; batteries of huge, museum-piece guns; the Electromagnetic Armor equipment wired into the plating that made Him look like a road-raging _Merrimac_; hell, even the supertanker itself, the largest ship in the world, that had served as the base for the new dreadnought; all had been supplied by VILE, within a matter of weeks. Even as jaded as she thought she was, to Daria, the magnitude of it all was still sobering.

The final delivery tonight was going to complete the deal, in more ways than one-apparently, enough extra expense had gone into the operation to fill VILE's theft quota for the better part of the next decade. And the other preparations for _Operation Thunder Child_ had left enough higher-ups indisposed that "Spindoctor" ended up being the highest ranking liaison available to oversee it's closing.

Naturally, a dark little corner of Daria's mind suspected that she just getting set up for a fall, if things started going pear-shaped. And if that was-

There was a knock at the bulkhead behind her, tearing Daria from her reverie. She turned over her shoulder to see her masked Crimson Goon attache-she thought his name was "Fred"-step through the hatchway. The man gave a quick, crisp salute, which Daria returned, more mildly.

He said "_Sir!_"-the address was one of Cobra's little idiosyncrasies-"We've just made contact with 'Big-Q'. Bearing two-two-zero, E-T-A is ten minutes."

Daria frowned. _220°-Southwest_? "You mean they're coming from _inside_ the storm?"

"Fred" nodded. "Thereabouts, sir. NAV thinks they might have been using it for the tailwind." Probably anticipating Daria's next question, he unslung the bulky pair of field glasses from around his neck, and added "We've already confirmed the visual-these are dialed in, sir." as he presented the gear.

Daria took them, pushing her own glasses up to her forehead, and turned to follow the digital "pipper" in the eyepieces to the target azimuth and elevation. There it was...the image was clear, the lenses already adjusted to her prescription, but it hadn't been zoomed enough to show more than a blotch. Daria tapped the magnifier button.

A second later, she gave a low whistle, and zoomed out again, a little, just to get the whole thing in view. It was definately the Quetzalcoatl-the"Big Q," and her cargo. The beast was _huge_.

Daria caught a few glimpses of twinkling light from the Big-Q's bow-probably the Xenon semaphore light they were using, to maintain radio silence.

Heh. Radio silence...which meant they were doing the transfer without radar, too. Which, to be fair, just went hand in hand with flying a fifteen-hundred ton cargo through a hurricane, in the dark, and trying to drop it off on a moving, oversized ironclad crewed by a bunch of freaks in snake costumes. Which for some damn reason included Dari-no, "_Spindoctor_."

"Bedlam..." she muttered, under her breath.

"Sir?" Fred asked, cocking his head.

Daria sighed, pulling the binoculars down. "Nothing." she said, handing them back to the goon. "You said ten minutes? Have my team ready in five-I'm assuming the skipper is already rousing the Tech-Vipes." Fred "yessired," but as Daria turned towards the hatchway, asked "Shall I send someone to warm up your transport? I know you like to head home on time, sir."

Daria paused for a moment, then shook her head. "No...I wouldn't want to divert the crew. No need to chance it." She started to reach for the door handle, but Fred had already opened it, stepping aside to let her through first. As her foot hit the inner deck, the ship lurched through another wave, giving her inner ear another little twirl.

She sighed again, stifling a groan. "If we're going to do this, we might as well do it _right_."

Eleven minutes later, Spindoctor was standing just astern of the great, gaping weapons pit in the _Lancehead's_ main deck, flanked by her little contingent-more Crimson Guardsmen, and a few Iron Grenadiers.

The operation was proceeding perfectly. And Daria was scared out of her mind.

Which, all things considered, she thought meant she was handling it pretty well.

Six stories overhead, was the Quetzalcoatl-a "helistat" hybrid; the end result of mating six triple-rotor uprated Mi-32 airframes to a cargo support gantry, and _that_ to a dazzle-painted dirigible aerostat. Daria couldn't seem to remember the exact figures on it's size-she knew each rotor diameter was about thirty yards, but she couldn't stand looking up at the damn thing long enough to try and guess about the rest.

Daria made a point of adjusting her uniform Aiguillette. Again. Her ear defenders were canceling out most of the noise, but the vibration from the score of engines and turbines made it feel like someone was taking a belt sander to her spine. It seemed to be burning through the dramamine pretty fast.

_Although_, as she conceded, as the ship rolled and the gargantuan, uncrated cargo swung enough on it's short tethers to nearly _touch_ the sides of the pit, only to swing back away again in unreal silence, _it_ might _be_ _stress_.

Daria felt a gentle pressure on her shoulder, which was just subtle enough to keep her from jumping. She looked back; Fred had a gloved hand on her shoulder. He pointed forwards with the other, with a nod.

She followed his finger-a little red shape had appeared at the railing at the cargo's upper deck. _Wait_..._heh_. "Little" Hell-it had to be man sized.

In a quick, fluid movement, the shape hopped across the rail, catching in the glare of a spotlight on it's way, giving Daria a much better look at it's features-it _was_ human. A woman, in a great red coat, with a red fedora...and a nice pair of gams.

Daria turned back to Fred and said, with a slight smirk _"Gee, d'ya suppose that's her?"_

Before he could answer, a sledgehammer shock thundered through the _Lancehead_, and Daria felt a sickening drop that made her grimace.

...But, a second later when she wasn't breathing seawater and an "all clear" sounded through her earpiece, she realized that the cargo was finally aboard. Even the vibration had died down, as the Big-Q's engines throttled back to an idle.

Curious, she took an uneasy step forward, and glanced into the weapons pit. She was surprised to see that the cargo had touched down, as far as she could tell, _perfectly_ on the section of deck plating that had been marked out for it.

Daria looked up at the flying machine overhead, and for the first time, felt something approaching affection towards it. Somehow, deep down, she got the feeling that no matter how many others she'd ever encounter, she'd just dealt with the best pilots in the world. A little smile started to spread on her face.

When she looked down in the pit again, she caught sight of the woman in red, leaning, arms folded, casually against the cargo as she stood on the deck. If she hadn't jumped, she must have ridden down the side of the thing while it was setting down.

Daria couldn't see the woman's face under the shadow of her big hat, but the other woman must have been following her gaze, too. She raised one arm in an easy half-wave, and touched the brim of her hat, politely.

Daria tried to hide a deepening smile as she turned back to her men.

"All right then," she said, "let's not keep our guest waiting. Move out."

Down in the bottom of the pit, Techno-Vipers were already swarming over the cargo like ants on a corpse. Most of them were performing system assessment, but Daria spotted a few who were eagerly setting up to integrate the machine into the _Lancehead's_ structure. Daria hoped none of them started welding before Cobra had "officially" taken custody of the weapon-it would have been terribly gauche.

_Better get it over, then._ Daria thought, as she clomped across the deck with her gaggle of goons at her heels. She felt her nervousness rising, again. She couldn't tell if it was drowning out the motion sickness, or making it worse. She tried to choke it down.

The woman, the head of VILE herself, stood flanked by a couple of her own goons. A stately, regal figure cloaked in red. And yet...

There was something..._off_ about the other woman, in Daria's eyes. Familiar, almost. Which made no sense-Daria _knew_ she couldn't have met the VILE head before.

_Probably just jitters. Get a grip, 'Spindoc.'_ she thought. Her entourage came to a stop as a bosun "officially" piped them "aboard," following with an announcement of _"Cobra and MARS, arriving!"_ An odd little formality, that, but such was the point of the evening, really.

After a pause, Daria recited from the script she'd commited to memory. "On behalf of Cobra and Military Armaments Research Systems, I, Spindoctor, _salute_ our most _noble_ ally, Carmen Sandiego."

As she gave a quick salute, Daria noticed the woman's posture tense, just for an instant, like she'd been startled. She just as quickly settled back into her sultry poise, not quite convincing Daria that she'd just imagined it. Not quite.

Mentally, Daria started kicking herself. She must have just made some kind of screwup-probably her voice. _Damnit!_ And she'd worked-_worked_ on modulating her monotone for situations like this. It wasn't _her_ fault she wasn't a-

Daria's train of thought derailed, suddenly, when the VILE leader began to speak. Apprehension turned to a wave of astonishment...and a small amount of horror.

She said, simply, "As requested, and in accordance with the Cairo Tripartite Contract, I present to you" -cue a showman's wave of the hand-"_Dora_, the largest railway gun ever used in combat, in perfect operating condition."

They were exactly the words Daria had been expecting to hear. But that voice...that _voice_...

_Carmen_ continued. "I trust you find it...satisfactory?"

Daria somehow retained enough presence of mind to glance across the Pit, where the engineering chief was waiting. He was giving the prearranged "all clear" signal. Daria gave Sandiego a deep, clear nod, which was returned.

At that, both woman took a couple of strides forward, away from their escorts, and clasped gloved hands.

"_'Carmen'?_" Daria hissed, quietly, in mid handshake.

"_'Spindoctor'?_" The other woman replied, now close enough for Daria to see her eyebrow raise.

Daria felt a pang of queasiness return.

The two broke their shake, perhaps a blink longer than might normally have been expected. Without looking back, Sandiego motioned for one of her own goons, who approached, bearing a tablet PDA.

Carmen said, "If I may trouble you to..._confirm_ your _acceptance_ of the delivery?"

The tone of undercurrent in the woman's voice was subtle, but Daria caught it's meaning. Her eyes darted towards her own waiting goons, and back again. "My men will have to observe, of course."

Carmen shrugged. "I can't imagine that will be a problem."

Daria nodded, and waved her men forward. Fred, and a single Iron Grenadier approached, as had been the plan.

"Guardsman, Grenadier," Daria said, taking the tablet from Carmen's goon, as she launched into a slightly modified spiel-_this'll have to be GOOD_ "...as honorable and faithful _combat_ officers, witness and confirm as I, a _humble retainer_ of Cobra, take custody of the weapon." She signed the tablet, her Nom de Guerre traced in glowing pixels under the stylus, and held it out for the goons.

As they made their own marks, Daria turned back to Sandiego, and added, "And if I may say so, it's _truly_ an honor to _finally meet_ a person with such an _astounding_ and _exceptionally long_ career as yours, madam."

Sandiego tapped her hat brim, and smiled. "You give me too much credit...In the end, my work merely stems from the simple principle of..." Fred, having finished signing, handed the tablet back to Daria, who passed it to Carmen.

"..._'Title_ Transfer.'" The VILE chief finished, with the faintest of smiles.

"Still, it must be _quite_ a story-good for family gatherings, maybe." Daria agreed. That was probably pushing it, but Carmen actually let out a small chuckle.

Out of the corner of her eye, Daria thought she saw Fred cock his head, but she wasn't sure. _Damn_.

Somewhere overhead, the engines of the Big-Q began audibly spooling up-the refueling had evidently completed. In another few moments, the noise would be overwhelming again.

Sandiego gave a half-bow, and said "Friends, I really must fly-now that you have your 'Babylon Gun,' I have my own appointment with Baghdad's 'Bey'..."

Daria nodded, as she slipped her earphones back on. There was something...off, about that last remark, but she couldn't quite put her finger on it...

She made an "after you" gesture in the direction of the Big-Q's gangplank, and asked "If I may escort you, madam?" Even with the sound-cancelling earphones, she had to raise her voice to be heard-which would suit her just fine, in a moment.

Fred started to follow along, but Daria stopped him. "This'll only take a minute. See if you can snag a few Techs to prep the plane, would you?" The Crimson Guardsman hesitated for a moment, then "Yessired," and turned back to gather his men.

A mixed little vanguard of goons led the way up the catwalk leading to the Big-Q. Daria silently gave thanks that she got to walk side-by-side with Sandiego, and not a step or two behind. She was already feeling pretty bad about looking at her legs, earlier...

By the time they made it to the top of the gangway, the rumbling cacophony of the Big-Q's engines was as bad as it had been before-worse, really, with proximity. Daria's ear defenders strained to produce a moaning electronic tinnitus, overwhelming even any useful sound.

_Perfect_. Daria thought. If that was happening to her, the rest of the assembled goons had it as bad or worse.

At the Big-Q's hatchway, the goons separated back out to their respective groups-VILE's men flanking the door, Cobra's back on the gangway ramp itself.

Daria followed Sandiego to the door itself. When she had safely set foot inside the helistat, Daria extended her arm through the hatch for a last handshake, and cupped her mouth with the other hand-which, aside from a visual cue, mostly removed the chances of anyone trying to read her lips.

_I won't tell Helen, if you won't._ She mouthed.

"Carmen Sandiego" gave a wry smile, and mouthed back _You always WERE my favorite niece._

With that, she disappeared into the Big-Q's fuselage, followed by her goons. Daria stepped back as the gangplank retracted, grabbing a railing just in time to keep from being laid low-the motion of the decks, and the deft liftoff of the gigantic aircraft brought a tidal wave of vertigo that took a few moments to recover from.

She almost couldn't stand to-but at the last moment, she spared at look back at the departing aircraft.

From a few dozen yards up, as the aircraft pulled away, Daria could see a figure in red leaning out the Big-Q's hatch, waving her hat like a cowboy.

Daria made a return salute...which accidentally cued the rest of her own goons to a round of fist-pumping Cobra battle cries, which made Daria cringe.

The helistat yawed northwest, pulling it's passenger out of sight. A minute later, even the sound had disappeared into the growing gloom of night, leaving only the thrum of the _Lancehead's_ course through the waves, and the welders' crackle from the weapon pit.

Shaking her head, slyly, Daria stifled a rare laugh as she made her way back down the catwalk to the maindeck. Fred was already waiting.

"Sir? The VTOL's ready and waiting-we can leave any time."

"Good...I want to be back in Jaipur by breakfast. Shall we?"

Fred led the way aft, adding "The weather's too bad to launch the Firebats...but it shouldn't be a problem before we meet up with the escort from the mainland."

Daria grimaced. "You mean we'll be skimming the water until we're halfway there." she asked, through gritted teeth.

"There's really no other choice, sir. It's safest for the most people-_Including_ us, sir."

Daria groaned, quietly. He was right, of course. But it didn't mean she had to look _forward_ to it-it'd be a bumpy ride, at the very least. Especially after the last trip-

_Speak of the Devil..._ "If it's of any comfort, sir," Fred added, helpfully, "we probably won't get any flying fish caught in the jet intakes this time. What with the time of night, and that coolant leak in our wake-"

_"...Bedlam."_ Daria murmured, just as they reached the _Lancehead's_ fantail, and the stubby tiltwing aircraft parked on it.

"Sir?"

"Nothing. Nothing at all, Guardsman. Your...preparedness is very reassuring."

"Only doing my job, sir." Fred answered, as he popped the canopy open with a pneumatic hiss.

_Aren't we all._ Daria thought, as she settled into the VTOL's passenger seat. It was reclined comfortably enough, maybe she'd be able to nap. She rubbed at her eyes, and some of the drizzle that collected on her leather glove ran cold onto her face.

_Aren't we all..._

* * *

><p>Author's notes: This story's peppered with in-jokes, little puns, and obscure references, from the title on down. As is my usual custom. Try to spot 'em all!<p> 


End file.
